


The Moonflower in the Rain

by starduster



Category: Gintama
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, spoilers up to 575, the whole story of their relationship basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6127840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starduster/pseuds/starduster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never intended to become to attached to the violent kid he found dying behind his apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moonflower in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> edit: so 580 came out like a week or so after i posted this. so i guess it's canon divergence now? idk.

He wouldn’t have noticed the little body crumpled among the small mountain of trash bags if it hadn’t been for the obnoxious tangle of long cinnabar hair, matted with blood, covering the child’s head.  The kid –can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl—isn’t moving, but the shallow, wet rasping of breath tells Abuto that the pitiful thing is at least alive, and that he should probably do something about it.

Heaving a weary sigh Abuto tosses his bag of trash onto the pile and crouches in front of the kid.  “Oi,” he mutters, shaking the kid’s knee gently, frowning when he gets no response.  He grasps the kid’s bony wrist and checks his pulse: slow, but present.  _Abuto, you stupid idiot, what have you gotten yourself into?_  

Against his better judgement Abuto hauls the kid up into his arms and carries him the short distance back to the door to the apartment’s stairway.  It’s late at night and pouring rain; there isn’t going to be anyone out to see a grown-ass man carrying a bloodied child back to his apartment in a shady part of town, right?  As he unlocks the door to his apartment the child makes a quiet, pained sound, though he doesn’t move. 

His apartment is a tiny shithole.  The roof leaks, there’s no air con or heating, and he’s sure enough drug deals and cheap blowjobs go on in the building to make a major league crime lord jealous.  But it’s enough for him, a perpetually-tired security guard with no real direction in life.  He keeps it clean enough, and it’s better than being out in the rain.  Gently he lies the kid down on the old beat up sofa and analyzes the mess he’s just brought home. 

A boy, from the looks of the face, maybe fourteen or fifteen.  His face is a swollen mess, his nose broken and both eyes blooming bruises.  A nasty-looking laceration at the top of his forehead is leaking blood down his face as well as back into that pretty cinnabar hair.  The boy looks like he hasn’t had a proper meal in a long time, and his clothes, cheap-looking to begin with, are torn and filthy.  The rest of his body is as fucked up as his face, an ugly painting in blacks, blues, and yellows.  His right leg is bent at a strange angle.

“What the fuck did you get into, kid?”  Abuto ponders out loud to no one in particular, deciding ultimately that he’d be better off calling an ambulance (though if they’d even bother coming to this part of town is a question in and of itself).  Turning from the kid and reaching for the phone, he’s halfway through dialing when a raspy sound draws his attention back.  He’s met with piercing blue eyes scrutinizing him through swollen slits, and the kid’s mouth is moving like he’s trying to say something.  He swallows heavily, his bloody face screwing up with the pain of the effort, and tries again. 

“Don’t,” he rasps, desperation audible despite the roughness of his voice.  “Don’t call the police.”

Abuto raises an eyebrow but sets the receiver back into the cradle.  “And why shouldn’t I?”

Blue-Eyes coughs, a nasty hacking sound that sprays a little bit of blood onto Abuto’s couch, and tries to sit up.  But the motion makes him cry out in pain and he sinks back down into the couch again.  “They’ll send me back,” he groans.  “Back home.”

Abuto laughs, a short, harsh burst of noise.  “You a runaway?  Really got yourself into some shit, kid.”

“Kamui.”

“What?”

Blue-Eyes makes a face that, on a less swollen visage, might have been a glare-scowl.  “My name’s Kamui, not ‘kid.’”    

Abuto shrugs.  “Well, whatever.  If you don’t want me to call the police I won’t but you’re not exactly in any state to be running off again.” He steps into the apartment’s tiny bathroom, shuffling around in the cabinets for the million-year-old first aid kit he knows is there somewhere.  “What happened to you, anyway?”

Kamui is quiet for a moment.  “I started a fight I couldn’t finish,” he finally admits, and Abuto can detect a hint of shame in his voice. 

“No shit?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Kamui mutters, and when Abuto comes back into the room, first aid kit in hand, he finds that Kamui’s rolled to face the back of the couch.  “I almost killed my dad once though.” 

“Well, I’m very impressed,” Abuto replies, unable to keep much of the amusement out of his voice.  “Roll over so I can clean you up.”

Kamui glares back at him over his shoulder and doesn’t budge.  “Why are you being nice to me, anyway? Are you going to rape me or something?”

Abuto rolls his eyes and grabs Kamui by one dislocated shoulder, yanks him back onto his back.  “I find a kid apparently at death’s door in the garbage dump outside my apartment building and take him inside to make sure he’s not dead, and I get accused of being a kiddy diddler. No, kid, I’m just helping you.” 

They sit in silence for a while as Abuto tends the myriad cuts and gashes across the kid’s body, popping his shoulder back into its socket, awkwardly stabilizing the broken nose with a handful of bandages, and smearing an unnecessary amount of antibiotic ointment all over him.  Kamui won’t look at him, and beneath all the bruises on his face his cheeks are red.  Finally he sits up with a pained hiss when Abuto is done. 

“I can’t really do much about your leg,” Abuto confesses, bending it haphazardly as Kamui squirms at the pain.  “But we’re Yato, it’ll fix itself fast enough.”  Patting Kamui absently on the thigh, Abuto hauls himself to his feet and heads for the kitchen.  “Go take a shower and clean yourself up.  I won’t do that part for you.”

“My fucking leg is broken, how do you expect me to walk there?” Kamui snaps.  “Help me get there, I don’t even know where it fucking is.”

 _Such lovely language,_ Abuto thinks.

 

Half an hour later Kamui hobbles back into the apartment’s main room, using Abuto’s umbrella as a crutch.  When Abuto look away from the kitchenette he has to catch his breath before Kamui thinks he really _is_ a child predator.  Kamui’s dressed in one of Abuto’s oversized shirts and a pair of his boxers, and his long clean cinnabar hair spills down his back and over his shoulders.  With all the blood and grime cleaned off, and if Abuto imagines away all the swelling and bruises, Kamui is a handsome kid. 

Swallowing away the uncomfortable feeling that raises in his throat at the sight of the boy in his clothes, Abuto turns his attention back to scooping out a bowl of soup from the pot on the stove.  “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Kamui says, sidling up beside Abuto and peering into the pot of soup.  “That smells good.”

“It should be,” Abuto replies, turning and placing two bowls of soup and two bowls of rice and furikake on the table behind them.  “I like to think I’m a decent cook for a single guy.”

 

By the time Abuto gets halfway through his food, Kamui has finished the entire pot of soup and has started in on the rice cooker.  He watches in horror as Kamui eats his way through that, and he begins to fear that he’ll head for the meagerly-stocked cabinets until Kamui flops down at the table and sighs in contentment. 

“Well, for someone who was on the brink of death a couple hours ago you certainly have an appetite,” he observes blandly as Kamui picks at his teeth with a chopstick. 

Kamui burps and stretches, wincing when his abused muscles protest the actions.  “Well, I don’t get to eat much anymore.”

“Speaking of that,” Abuto finally says, fixing Kamui with what he hopes is a stern, fatherly glare, “what exactly got you in such a state?”  He sets his bowl down and folds his arms.  “If you want a roof over your head until you’re better, you’d better tell me why somebody beat you half to death.”

Kamui is quiet for a moment, then shrugs.  “I was starting trouble.”

“What for?”

“To get the Harusame’s attention.”  Grabbing his impromptu crutch, Kamui pushes himself painfully to his feet, and limps off for the couch.  “I want to be the strongest Yato in the universe, and the Pirate King.”

Abuto throws back his head and laughs, a nasty, sharp noise that makes Kamui turn and glare.  “The Pirate King?  That’s gold, kid, really.”  He starts to clean up the kitchen, his back to his wounded lodger.  “Go back home, kid.  You’ve got no idea-“

The blow that connects with his back doesn’t even hurt at first, and he doesn’t start to feel any pain until he’s pulling himself out of the smashed plywood of the cabinets and feeling for the knot on the back of his head.  When he looks up Kamui is smiling broadly at him, and a cold fear sinks into Abuto’s belly (or maybe that’s just a big sliver of wood).

“Don’t underestimate me,” says Kamui, his voice cheerfully sinister.  “I appreciate your helping me, I really do, but I won’t hesitate to kill you.” Leaning heavily on the umbrella-crutch, the boy leans forward and grabs Abuto’s wrist and yanks him out of the wreckage.  “My father is Umi Bouzu, you know.  Y’think I’m stronger than him?”

And damn him, opening those eyes and cocking his head and grinning a cute little grin that makes Abuto _not_ want to throw him out on the street.

 

"You can sleep on the couch tonight,” Abuto says, yanking an old blanket and pillow out of the closet and tossing it onto the couch.  Kamui has already settled down since his assault on his rescuer, sleepy from the painkillers Abuto gave him and running low on adrenaline.  He lays on the couch and peers intently at Abuto through swollen blue eyes, only moving enough to get blankets around him. 

"The cripple doesn't get the bed?"

Abuto snorts.  "The cripple kicked me into my cabinets and broke at least two of my ribs.  I think the cripple will manage on the couch."  He makes his way to the front door, locks it, chains it, and slides the deadbolt closed.  Can't be too safe in these troubled times.  "I've got tomorrow off, so I'll go buy you some clothes and see if I can find a leg splint anywhere.  And shit to fix my kitchen."  _And more food to fill the black hole that is your stomach._

He flicks off the light switch, leaving the room bathed in what little light is filtering in from the neon signs and halogen street lights of the city.  As he walks past the couch, thin bony fingers snag around his wrist.  He looks down at Kamui, but the bruised and battered face is turned into the pillow.  "Why are you being so nice to me?" comes the eventual muffled question.

Abuto sighs and sits down on the couch next to him.  "Fuck if I know.  Guess it's just what I was taught to do."

 

He wakes the next morning to the muffled sound of the TV playing quietly in the main room, and when he hauls himself out of his bedroom he's greeted by Kamui sprawled out on the floor, watching a ladies' talk show with rapt enthusiasm.  He looks mesmerized, like a traveler from a far-off planet who's never seen a television before. 

"Morning,” Abuto mumbles, not surprised when Kamui doesn't respond.  Making his way to the bathroom, he takes a piss and contemplates shaving before coming back to the main room to start breakfast.  Kamui is still enraptured with the talk show, and finally Abuto can't stand it any longer.  "What, you never seen a TV before?"

"No,” Kamui responds flatly, the screen reflecting in his eyes as he listens to Shina and Mei Ling tell him all about the newest recipes that are sure to please any picky husband.  "We couldn't afford one."

 _Oh._   Abuto watches him curiously, noting the honest delight in the kid's eyes.  "Well, there's all the satellite garbage you can get.  Go wild." 

 

One night Abuto comes back from work to an empty apartment.  They've been living together for about two weeks, and though Kamui's injuries are healing nicely (and his attitude is getting better), Kamui is not in much shape to be back on the street.  Abuto hates the spike of paternal worry that rises up his spine at the thought of the kid once again beaten to death in someone else's alleyway. 

He fixes dinner--two portions-- and eats by himself, listening to the babble of the television that's almost always on now.  He takes a shower and readies for bed, and his worry only grows until nearly two in the morning when pounding on his front door rouses him from an uneasy slumber. 

He opens the door to find Kamui grinning at him, blood splattered on his new changshan and a bulging messenger bag hanging at his waist.  "What the fuck," Abuto mumbles, stepping aside sleepily as Kamui steps in and drops the bag on the table.  He closes and locks the door again, but when he turns back to his lodger his eyes grow wide.  Wallets, jewelry, pocket watches, even particularly expensive looking shoes are spread out on his coffee table, and Kamui looks over them proudly, like a little child who's brought home art from kindergarten.  "What the fuck is this? Where the hell were you?"

"This,” Kamui says cheekily, a shit-eating grin on his face, “is my rent."  He picks up a wallet and tosses it to Abuto, and when he looks inside there's two months’ worth of his salary.  "Say, do you know of any fences around here?  Don't suppose I can just sell this at the pawn shop."

Abuto stares at the bills and coins filling the wallet.  "No, don't suppose you can."

 

\--------

 

Much to Abuto’s unexpected delight, Kamui’s robberies are going uninvestigated in their district.  This part of town has a sky high crime rate anyway and the police largely stay away, leaving the largely-poor populace to be defended by the occasional vigilante gang or triad.  No one has come to their door yet, guns blazing and knives gleaming with their blood, so Abuto figures that either Kamui is a very good thief, a murderer, or just hasn’t ruffled the feathers of the wrong people yet.  He fears it’s probably the latter two.

But he must admit that their… _supplemented income_ is considerably more comfortable than his low salary as a security guard.  Abuto can finally afford to feed the strange kid he’s become so fond of, and they even more into a slightly nicer apartment in the same shitty part of town.  Neither of them ever talk of Kamui actually _leaving_ ; they’ve lived together for two months by the time everything goes belly-up, and the living arrangement suits both of them.

That is, for a time.

 

Abuto is cleaning up the remnants of dinner and Kamui is lounging in front of the TV when someone knocks on the door.  Kamui makes no move to stand, so Abuto rolls his eyes and heads for the door.

“We’re not interested—“ The cold press of steel against his forehead freezes the words in his throat and he realizes he’s looking into the eyes of a very large and very not-Yato Amanto.  The Amanto is surrounded by a number of equally huge and equally terrifying abominations, and any chance of getting around them and their gun toting boss looks slim.

“Where is he?”  The Amanto growls, pressing the gun barrel insistently into Abuto’s skin.  “That little red-headed rat that took out an entire fucking squad, we know he’s hiding out here.”

Dread settles in the pit of Abuto’s stomach and he doesn’t dare move a muscle.  Here, it seems, were those unsavory folk that he figured Kamui would eventually stir up given enough time.  There is no sound behind him except for the babble of the television ( _that damned talk show again_ ), and the living room isn’t visible from the front door; they can’t see Kamui, and the kid is mercifully silent for once.  Slowly, Abuto raises his hands in a _please don’t shoot me_ gesture that he hopes isn’t threatening.  “Listen, buddy, there’s nobody here but me—“

He doesn’t get the bullet he expected, but he does get the stock smashed into the side of his head moments before the world goes dark.

 

He comes to with his head on something soft and his back on something terribly hard and cold.  When he opens his eyes colors swim across his vision, slowly straightening themselves out until he can identify the electric blue of Kamui’s eyes and the obnoxious cinnabar of his hair hovering above his head.  His head is resting on Kamui’s lap, and maybe it’s the concussion but is that a look of _concern_ on his young partner’s face?

“Good, you’re awake,” Kamui says quietly, and Abuto notices with some detachment that Kamui is unbruised and unbeaten, whereas Abuto can still feel his head throbbing and the wound weeping blood from where he was pistol whipped.  Abuto shifts in Kamui’s lap, trying to get a better look at his surroundings (though he’s reluctant to leave the pillow of Kamui’s thighs).  They’re in what appears to be a tiny jail cell, and the massive back of an Amanto guards the barred door.  “The Harusame,” the boy offers casually, as if the two of them haven’t just been captured by the most feared space pirates in the galaxy.  “We’re on one of their ships.  They finally noticed me, Abuto!”  He’s positively _beaming,_ and Abuto kind of wants to hit him.

“Because you killed a bunch of their men, you idiot!” Abuto hisses back, glaring up at his liege’s grinning face.  “Have we already left Rakuyo?  Because if we’re in space already they’re going to throw us out a fucking airlock.”

“You, maybe,” Kamui replies as he scoots Abuto off his lap.  “I think they’re going to offer me a job.”　

 _This goddamn idiot_.  Abuto groans as he sits up, feeling the blood finally rush out of his head and away from the sizable wound on his temple.  There’s the sound of footsteps out in the hallway, and they ring painfully in his throbbing head before their source comes into view.  It’s the Amanto who beat him back on Rakuyo.

“You,” he growls, pointing at Kamui with his gun.  “Come with me.” 

Kamui bounds to his feet eagerly and slips out of the door now being held open by the guard, and before he disappears around the corner he flashes a grin and a thumbs up back to Abuto. 

 

Hours pass.  Abuto counts the rivets in the steel walls as he lays on the thin pallet provided and waits and waits and waits.  The guard bring him a plate of some sort of foreign food and drink, but Abuto’s stomach is still turning from the thought that they’ve been captured by the _goddamn Harusame_ and he doesn’t touch it.  Kamui is probably being interrogated prior to being thrown out the airlock into the cold nothing of space, or maybe they’ve already done it and they’re on their way now to give Abuto his turn.  He thinks of his mother, at home alone in her little apartment in a nicer part of Rakuyo’s capitol, and wishes that she wasn’t going to lose her favorite son because of some idiot kid he tried to help.  He thinks of all the girls and guys he didn’t get to date.  He thinks of Kamui’s lifeless body drifting away from the ship. 

It’s nearly four hours before Kamui returns, and the stupid grin on his face says it all.

 

“You’re shitting me,” Abuto mumbles in disbelief as he follows Kamui out of the cramped brig and onto the ship proper.  His eyes are drawn to the portholes, and they widen in awe at the sight of stars passing in the distance, at clouds of nebulae and the curve of a gas giant a light year away.  He has never set foot off the sodden rock of Rakuyo before, and here he is now in the deepest reaches of space on a damn pirate ship.

“The captain pretended like he didn’t care if I turned him down,” Kamui explains as they make their way down the hall behind a couple of the captain’s lackeys.  “But I knew he was desperate to have me.  I could smell how afraid he was that I’d say no.  So I told him I’d only join him if he hired you too.”

Abuto picks his jaw up off the floor and grabs Kamui by the arm, staring in amazement when Kamui turns to him in surprise.  “You did that for me?”

Kamui stares at him.  “Of course.  I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t helped me.”  Kamui says this like it’s the most obvious thing ever, and the unspoken _duh_ is implied.  “I’ll be heading a Yato squadron, and you’ll be my vice-captain.”

 

\---------

 

‘Pirate’ was never a career that Abuto had ever postulated for himself but to his surprise he finds himself settling into the work quite comfortably.  Violence comes easily to any Yato, and Abuto finds he has no qualms about crushing a skull or two for a hefty payout.  Hell, most of the time he and Kamui aren’t even doing the dirty work; they’ve got nearly two dozen Yato underlings for that.  Kamui revels in the bloodshed and inserts himself into it whenever he gets the opportunity, but Abuto likes the other procedures more:  threatening, extortion, blackmail, kidnappings and ransoms. 

He’d sent a wire to his mother and informed her that he’d found good work off-planet and would likely send her some of his wages.  He makes more money now than he knows what to do with, and there’s only so many exotic liquors and prostitutes at ports-of-call that he wants to buy, so a healthy chunk of his paycheck goes back to his dear momma.  The old lady’s earned it, he thinks.

The years start to tick by before Abuto even realizes.  The boy he dug bleeding out of the garbage grows taller and muscular, and his spot at Abuto’s side never falters.  He is Kamui’s closest confidant and right hand man, and despite Kamui’s impulsivity there’s few decisions that don’t get run past Abuto first in some form or another.  Kamui is seventeen now, a man Umi Bouzu would’ve been proud of if they hadn’t ended their relationship by trying to murder each other. 

Abuto’s feelings for him have not lessened with the passage of time, but Kamui shows no interest in the sins of the flesh, much less any involving his thirty-something vice-captain. 

 

\--------

 

The Harusame throw the Yato squadron a feast one night three years after they joined.  Their thirty-man squad practically tore apart a rival gang’s entire space fleet of hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers, and everyone’s spirits are riding high on sated bloodlust and the glut of alcohol and food laid out before them. 

By the time dinner is finished, Abuto is convinced that Kamui has eaten at least a quarter of their ship’s entire food stocks.  Waiter after waiter brings Kamui plate upon plate of food, and some of the newer pirates stare in horror as Kamui devours everything set in front of him.  Faintly buzzed with alcohol Abuto simply watches in fond amusement until Kamui finally throws down the towel and retires for the night. 

Laying on his bed later that night, Abuto muses about the fact that he really shouldn’t drink, that it never turns out well for him.  His head is already starting to ache, and eventually he dredges up the energy to go seek painkillers from the infirmary.

“Vice-captain! Vice-captain!”

The panicked voices of his men carry down the hallway, and when Abuto turns to look at them, the complaint of ‘you’re too damn loud’ dies on his lips when he sees the looks on their faces.  Pure terror.

“It’s the captain! Something’s happened to him, but—“

In an instant Abuto is racing down the hall towards the captain’s quarters, his blood rushing in his ears.  _No, no, no, fucking no._   He can hear the furious pounding footsteps of his men still following him, and he barely listens when one of them starts to speak again.

“The medic looked at him long enough to say he wasn’t dying, but then the captain broke his neck and threw him back out in the hall, and now he’s locked himself in his room and demanding to see you.”

There’s a big crowd of Yato and Harusame gathered around the crumpled body of the medic outside Kamui’s door, but they part instantly and hush when Abuto sweeps onto the scene.  He pounds his fist on the metal door, straining to hear noise from inside.  “Captain!  It’s me!”

There’s no response, so Abuto swallows his fear and opens the door himself, tapping in an override code on the keypad and entering the dark cabin.

The door closes with a hydraulic _whoosh_ behind him leaving the room bathed in dark, but there’s still the glow of twilight filtering in through the windows.  In the dull illumination he can see Kamui laying huddled on the floor next to the bed, his knees tucked to his chest and his head tucked downward.  His breathing is raspy and fast.  Something in the air smells weird, but he can’t quite place it.

“Kamui, can you hear me?”  Abuto asks quietly, walking slowly over to the little body on the floor.  He crouches beside him and lays a hand on his shoulder, feeling how sweat has soaked through his clothes and how his skin feels like it’s practically on fire.  Kamui whimpers at the touch, and his hand weakly grabs Abuto’s wrist.

 _“Abuto_ ,” Kamui whispers hoarsely.  He looks up at Abuto with desperate eyes.  “ _I need you to fuck me, right now._ ”

Abuto blinks. 

_I need you to fuck me._

_I need you to FUCK me._

_I need YOU to fuck ME._

“Wha-“ Abuto tries to start, but the words die in his throat.  Kamui uncurls from his fetal position and attempts to squirm closer to Abuto, and that’s when he notices the tent in Kamui’s trousers, and identifies the smell of come in the air.  _Oh god.  Oh god._

Kamui reaches for Abuto’s face and in terror Abuto seizes his wrists, holding him fast against Kamui’s attempts to touch him or undress him or _whatever the fuck is going on._   “Please,” Kamui whispers, and he sounds desperate and awful, his breathing heavy and voice needy and that alone makes Abuto’s cock twitch.  “I d-don’t know what it is but I’ve gotta do something, it feels better when I come but then it doesn’t do away, and—“

“Just jerk off or something!”

“It’s not like that!” Kamui cries, struggling against Abuto’s grip and freeing himself enough to start to work at the buttons of Abuto’s coat.  His fingers are shaking violently, and Abuto can feel the feverish heat radiating off of him like a space heater.  “I need to fuck somebody, or be fucked, or something!  You’re the only person I trust, come on—“ His fingers give up on the shirt button and drop down to Abuto’s pants, yanking them down his thighs with such force that the fabric rips.  Abuto yells in protest but Kamui has already began to jerk him off through his boxers and Jesus Christ he lost control of this situation fast.  “And you’ve wanted to fuck me from the start, right?  Ever since I came out of your bathroom in your clothes that day, so just take fucking advantage of it –“

 _“Kamui!”_ Abuto grabs ahold of Kamui’s shoulders and shoves him back hard, wincing when the kid slams against the wooden bedframe.  He thinks for a moment that Kamui will attack him for real this time, but then he sees the desperation and fear in those bright blue eyes and the way his whole body is trembling and knows Kamui is in serious pain from whatever the hell this is, knows he can’t just leave him.  “Fuck it, just—I’ll help you, okay?  But you’ve gotta slow down.  We have to do this right.”  Abuto runs a shaky hand through his hair and sighs, then crouches in front of the shaking mess on the floor.  Kamui is breathing fast, sweat dripping down his face, and he swallows hard when Abuto places a hand on his cheek.  “You have to calm down first.  Try and breathe, okay?”

Kamui nods slowly, and Abuto can see from the rise and fall of his chest that it’s a monumental effort just to try and take deep breaths.  As Kamui tries to collect himself, Abuto stands and goes to the intercom on the wall.  “I think he’s been poisoned or something. I’m going to stay in here with him, so go back to your stations. Check the food he was eating,” he tells one of his men, then turns back to Kamui, who has pulled himself up to sit on the bed.  He’s breathing a bit easier now, and trying to get out of his own sweat-soaked clothes.  Abuto sighs again and gets to work on his own clothes.  _What the fuck are you doing,_ he asks himself as he walks across the tiny cabin to the bathroom, searching out a little bottle of lotion in one of the drawers in the sink.  It will have to work.

When he returns to the cabin, his breath catches in his throat at the sight spread out in front of him.  Kamui is lying nude on the bed and jerking himself off slowly, one arm slung over his eyes as if to shield them from the light (and the embarrassment).  It makes Abuto harder than it probably should, and he's aware of the sizable bulge in his now-torn trousers.  At the sound of his footsteps crossing the room Kamui turns his head away and spreads his legs, looking for all the world like he doesn't want to be here.

"Are you still alright with this?"  Abuto asks as he settles onto the bed next to him.  Tentatively he reaches out and rests his hand on Kamui's thigh, on the soft skin that he would never admit he's always wanted to touch just like this.  Kamui's hips twitch at just that sensation.  _Wow, he's really keyed up._

Kamui swallows anxiously and nods, finally turning his head to face Abuto with a look of forced sourness.  "I don't think I've got much of a choice," he says, and he sounds even more wrecked than he looks.  "I have to have my first time with a middle-aged kiddy fucker with a gross beard."  But the corners of his lips turn up just the slightest bit and it makes Abuto's heart flutter in ways that it shouldn't.  Those big blue eyes flicker down to the bulge in Abuto's pants.  "Are you hard enough?" he asks, flushing even redder than he was before. 

In response Abuto simply unbuttons his pants, and the way his erection practically springs from its confines seems to answer Kamui's question just fine.  Abuto turns his attention back to the lotion he brought with him, uncapping it and spreading a liberal amount on his fingers.  He moves to settle between Kamui's legs, but suddenly a warm hand wraps around his erection and he can't help but hiss because _good god that's what he's wanted for so fucking long._  

His touch is feather light, little more than just a gentle stroke, but it does enough, and despite the pain of his illness Kamui grins at Abuto's reaction.  "What are you, some little boy?"

Abuto scowls at him.  "Shut up.  That's awfully rude to the guy who's gonna help you."

With a shrug Kamui twists his wrist and continues his slow teasing touches, but he lays his head back and closes his eyes when Abuto's dry hand delicately bends his knees and parts his legs further, opening up access.  "This is probably going to hurt,” Abuto mumbles, pressing gently at his entrance with one finger before sliding it slowly in to the knuckle.  Kamui bites his lip and whines, wiggling his hips a bit and squeezing experimentally around the finger inside of him.  "How's that?"

Kamui nods rapidly, as if that means anything.  "More," he murmurs, the lust audible in his voice. 

A second finger fits in snugly beside the first, and for a moment Abuto sees Kamui's eyebrows knit together in discomfort.  In return Abuto wraps his free hand around Kamui's cock and tugs lazily, not surprised when it draws a sharp cry of pleasure.  The kid's wound up tighter than a tripwire and Abuto doesn't think he'll last very long.  "Is that good?"  he asks.  He can't keep the teasing tone out of his voice, but he'd be a damned liar if he said he didn't like how visibly aroused Kamui is.

"S-shut up,” Kamui growls, rolling his hips against Abuto's fingers and groaning when they bump against his prostate.  "I need," he whispers, and it sounds so _desperate_ that Abuto gives in to him and starts to thrust and curl his fingers gently.  Kamui's hand has stilled its movements on Abuto's cock but it's the last thing on his mind at this point as he watches Kamui tumble rapidly towards orgasm.

When he comes his whole body spasms and he throws his head back, clenching hard around Abuto's fingers (and if they weren't Yato fingers they would probably be broken).  Come splatters his stomach and his cock jerks and throbs in Abuto's hand.  But his erection doesn't falter even after Kamui's breath has come back to him and Abuto has withdrawn his fingers, and therein lies the reason why he can't just jerk this poison away.  Kamui gazes at him through lidded, lusty eyes and whispers a throaty "more," and good God if words alone could make a man come...

Abuto swallows hard as he spreads Kamui's legs as wide as they can, and Kamui tries to help accommodate him.  His eyes, however, are fixed tightly on where Abuto's cock is prodding gently at his hole. 

Abuto braces himself above the boy's shivering frame, resting on his elbows so there's hardly a scant few inches of space between their faces.  Kamui moves enough to press his lips against Abuto's, and the intimacy of the move spurs enough courage in Abuto for him to kiss back.  They lay quiet for a moment, Abuto reveling in the realization that this is happening and Kamui seeming equally bewildered.  But finally Kamui swallows audibly and nods awkwardly.  "I'm ready."

Kamui’s body clenches painfully tight around him at the first push in, and despite everything his body is telling him to just _move move for the love of god move_ Abuto forces himself to go slow, agonizingly slow.  The boy beneath him trembles and he’s covering his face with his hands.  “Y’alright?” Abuto manages, resting his forehead against Kamui’s.  He’s only halfway in. 

Kamui makes a small frustrated noise but nods, uncovering his face so he can wrap his arms around Abuto’s neck.  Abuto kisses him deeply, noting the tears on the boy’s cheeks and the hotness of his skin.  “I’ll let you get used to it,” he mumbles, letting one of his hands card gently through Kamui’s hair as the other strokes the skin of his hip.  Kamui nods quickly, tucking his face into the crook of Abuto’s neck and breathing deeply. 

It’s rare to see this side of Kamui, Abuto has come to realize, the quiet, uncertain, affectionate side.  So he holds himself still as best as he can, stroking Kamui’s hair, palming his flagging erection, doing anything to relax the boy until Kamui finally sighs and tentatively shifts his hips.  “Okay,” Kamui says quietly, lifting his shaky legs to wrap around Abuto’s hips. 

So he starts to move, ever so slowly, a gentle rocking of his hips that draws a low whine from the depths of Kamui’s throat.  He doesn’t push all the way in—it’s probably too soon for that—but his cock is big enough that he nudges that tiny spot inside of the boy that makes his breath catch.  “Is that good?” Abuto murmurs into Kamui’s ear, angling the shallow thrusts to rub in just the right way.  Kamui swallows heavily and nods, rolling his hips to meet Abuto’s gentle movements, his breath coming in soft raspy puffs that tickle Abuto’s skin. 

“’s good,” he mumbles, but his voice gets caught in a moan when Abuto thrusts just a _bit_ harder and jams into his prostate.  “Really good,” he says, his voice a bit more frantic sounding, and he unwinds one of his arms from where he’s been holding on to Abuto for dear life to slip it between their bodies and grasp his half-hard cock. 

Kamui squeezes down deliciously around Abuto’s cock and Abuto can’t tell if it’s intentional or not but it pulls him dangerously close to the edge and he has to tighten up every single muscle in his balls _hard_ to keep himself from busting inside the kid.   “God, you’re fucking tight,” he groans as he experimentally thrusts a bit deeper, grinning when Kamui cries out in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant.  He pushes himself up onto his hands so he can look down at the flushed panting face below him, and his grin widens when he sees how wrecked Kamui looks. 

Tears on his eyelashes mingle with the sweat beading on his skin, and his lips are shiny with spit.  Blue eyes are dark with arousal and his whole face is bright red.  Realizing he’s the center of attention, Kamui screws his face up into something that looked like it was meant to be a glare but winds up looking more like he’s desperate to be fucked harder.  “Of…. Of course I’m tight, you gross old man,” he hisses, grinding his hips against Abuto’s.  But his eyes fall shut again and he moans, biting his lip and squeezing his cock in time with Abuto’s quickening thrusts.  “I’m going to come soon,” he admits, rolling his head to the side and squinting at the wall in embarrassment.  Abuto takes the chance to drop his head down to kiss Kamui’s neck, letting his teeth help out and leave a lovely dark bruise on that pretty snow-white skin. 

“You can come,” Abuto says.  “I’m there, too.”

Kamui nods shakily and sucks in another desperate breath, and the way he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood tells Abuto he won’t be long.  A hazy part of his mind thinks Kamui probably wouldn’t appreciate it if he came inside, so as quickly as he can without hurting the boy he pulls out and straightens up, one hand working himself quickly.

Kamui frowns.  “Why’d you—“ his voice cuts off in a shout when the fingers of Abuto’s free hand are shoved roughly back inside his wet hole, three of them up to the knuckle in him, curling to rub his prostate with every agonizing movement. His eyes are focused on Abuto’s cock, though, and when Abuto finally tenses up and shoots come over Kamui’s prone body Kamui lets out a soft little sigh and throws his head back.  Moments later he clamps down on the fingers inside of him and comes with a breathy little groan. 

As gently as he can Abuto slips his fingers out, watching Kamui’s hole gape and clench around its newfound emptiness.  The room is silent except for harsh breathing and the soft creak of the bedsprings as Abuto leans over to grab the box of tissues off the nightstand.  Abuto wipes them off as best as he can then lies down next to him, thoroughly exhausted.  It was the best lay he’d had in years.  He’s acutely aware that Kamui is shivering with little aftershocks of pleasure, squeezing his thighs together and clenching at the bedsheets, and so he rolls onto his side so he can throw an arm over Kamui’s small body.   He reaches up to push Kamui’s sweat-dampened hair out of his face. 

“Are you alright?” he questions softly, petting his hair absently and watching the way his eyelashes flutter.  Slowly, as if he’s coming back into his own body after a long absence, Kamui nods and rolls over with a pained groan to rest against Abuto’s chest.  Abuto presses a lingering kiss to Kamui’s forehead then pulls the thin sheet over both of them, listening to the even rhythm of Kamui’s sleeping breath.  This may have been a mistake, he thinks.

 

When he wakes up the first light of dawn is starting to creep in through the high porthole windows, and for a moment he can’t figure out why he’s sleeping naked in an unfamiliar cabin, but then a warm mass at his side quivers and the memories start to creep back.

Kamui is sleeping uneasily beside him, curled in on himself and murmuring occasionally, but it seems like he’s feeling better than he was the previous night.  He’s still running a fever but his skin feels a bit cooler, and the heavy sweating is gone.  Abuto runs a hand through cinnabar rivers of hair, watching the way Kamui’s shoulders move slowly with his even breathing, the way his eyelashes are fluttering over his closed eyes.  He probably shouldn’t have done this, he thinks.  He’s dug his own hole even deeper, and now Kamui has fallen in as well.  His heart aches for this child, who can’t express his feelings without venom in his words or the help of his fists, who had to grow up with a dying mother and absent father, and who is now headed down a path towards his own ugly self-destruction.  And even worse is that Kamui is right, that Abuto is attracted to him and that he’s taken advantage of Kamui’s poison-fueled panic.

With a heavy sigh Abuto wriggles away from him and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing alone in the dark cabin.  He gathers his clothes and redresses, frowning at his torn trousers but deciding it’s easy enough to cover with his cloak.  He gives a final look at the sleeping boy in the bed, then heads out into the hall.

 

When he returns to the cabin, balancing a tray of food in one hand as he struggles to open the door, he finds that Kamui has managed to sprawl over the entire bed, belly-up and still covered with dried cum.  It’s not entirely a bad sight, Abuto muses as he places the tray on the little fold-out table on the wall and heads back for the door.

“Abuto?” comes a muffled murmur from the bed, and Abuto pauses, hand a scant few inches from the doorknob, to look at the sleepy form on the bed.  Kamui yawns and peers at him through heavy-lidded eyes.  “What time is it?”

“A little past dawn.  I brought you food,” he says, gesturing to the tray on the table.

“Are you going to leave?” An unusually honest statement from his young captain. 

“If you want me to stay, I will.”

Kamui nods, then sits up with a pained groan.  “My body hurts.”  He shivers in the chill air, wrapping the sheet around him as he wobbles over to the table.  Abuto flops down in a chair in the corner and watches as Kamui picks at the food, probably the strangest sight he’s seen since this whole fiasco started.  A Kamui that isn’t devouring the entire ship’s larder is a strange thing indeed.

“How do you feel?” Abuto ventures, noting the redness that has begun to bloom on Kamui’s cheeks.  “The poison should probably work its way out of your system sometime today.”

The boy chews slowly on his food, avoiding Abuto’s stare.  “Somebody tried to assassinate me?”

“Seems that way.  They found a human toxin in your food, but apparently it doesn’t work quite the same in Yato bodies.  Makes us horny, apparently.”

“Mm,” Kamui mumbles, laying his chopsticks down and staring at his half-eaten meal.  “Abuto.”

“What?” Abuto pretends like he doesn’t think he knows what’s going to come next.

Kamui frowns, cheeks bright red.  “I think I need, again…”

 _Bingo_.  Abuto laughs.  “You’re fun like this.  Come here.”  He pushes down the guilt rising up his spine as Kamui pads across the thin carpet, shedding the sheet as he climbs into Abuto’s lap.  He’s already half hard, and shivers when Abuto’s hand slides down to his ass and his fingers press against his hole.  Kamui rolls his hips and rubs his cock against Abuto’s stomach, hiding his face in Abuto’s neck as his breathing quickens.

So they sit together, Kamui fucking himself on Abuto’s fingers and thrusting his leaking cock into his fist as little moans and whines fall from his mouth.  Abuto is painfully hard but focused entirely on the squirming body in his lap until Kamui clenches around him and lets out a strangled little moan.

When his breath comes back to him Kamui peers down at his cum-covered hand and wipes it on Abuto’s thigh in disgust.  Then he sighs and tucks himself back against Abuto’s chest.  His hand fondles the bulge in the big man’s trousers.  “Do you want me to suck you off?” Kamui asks, and the question sounds ridiculously pure in his even, curious tone.

 _Please please please_.  “If you want to,” Abuto responds flatly, suppressing the wave of elation that floods him when Kamui slides off him to kneel between his legs.  Kamui giving blowjobs is a damn fine sight, Abuto thinks as he runs his hand through the kid’s hair to settle on the back of his head.

And he swallows, as it turns out.

When they’re done Kamui gets back in his lap, snagging the sheet off the floor and wrapping himself up in it before pillowing back down on Abuto’s shoulder.

“Are you sleeping here?” Abuto asks, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Mm-hmm.” Kamui cranes his head up and looks at Abuto slyly, a suspicious little smile gracing his face.  “Hey, do you want to kiss me?”

Abuto snorts, letting his hand settle on the small of Kamui’s back and stretching out enough to get vaguely comfortable.  “Not when I just came in your mouth.”

Kamui frowns, then suddenly slides off his lap and pads to the bathroom, leaving Abuto confused but altogether too tired to give much of a shit.  He hears the sound of the sink running, and of spitting.  “Are you throwing up?  Because I’m definitely not going to kiss you if you’re puking.”

“I’m washing my mouth out, asshole!” Kamui shouts back.  “So I don’t have to keep tasting your nasty cum.”

When he comes back into the room he returns to his spot in Abuto’s lap and snuggles back into him.  “What about now?”

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

The response comes in the form of a soft hand grasping his whiskery chin and twisting his head, then of chapped lips pressing hot against his own.  When they part Kamui scowls at him and lays back down.  “You’re stupid.  Shut up.”

 

They fuck twice more before the day is over, when the poison is starting to leave Kamui’s body but he’s still too uncomfortable to do anything else.  This last time he takes Kamui on his hands and knees, and mercifully the young captain doesn’t complain when Abuto sinks his teeth into the soft skin of Kamui’s shoulder when he comes inside of him (but he does complain about _that_ ).  Kamui lays beside him afterwards, stretching sinuous as a cat and resting his head on Abuto’s chest.  Abuto cards his fingers through Kamui’s tangled hair –they really need to take a shower—and stares at the ceiling absently as he replays the events of the last 24 hours over and over again in his mind. 

At least he does until Kamui opens his mouth.  “My butt hurts pretty bad,” he says casually, almost like he’s not talking to Abuto at all.

“Not my fault you keep wanting things in your ass,” Abuto responds, flinching when Kamui pinches his side hard enough to leave a nice bruise.  “A kid your age shouldn’t be so intent on taking it up the ass like that.”

Kamui scowls up at him.  “I’ll be eighteen in June, I think I’m plenty old enough to know if I want things besides shit in my ass.”

"Charming as always,” Abuto says, but the words weigh heavily on his mind.  _You’re twice as old as this kid and you’ve fucked him multiple times now,_ he thinks to himself.  _Maybe he’s right and you’re just a gross old pedophile._   But then Kamui readjusts himself so he can solicit more kisses (over the past day he’s become quite the kisser, Abuto muses, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing by Abuto’s standards). 

 _And then he does shit like this,_ Abuto scolds himself furiously, even as he sits up and wraps his arms around Kamui’s slender waist so he can kiss him more comfortably.  _He does this shit and you try to justify your grossness because he got poisoned and it made him desperately hypersexual and he didn’t know what to do.  He trusted you._

This isn’t right.

“I need a shower,” Abuto mumbles as an excuse when he hoists Kamui out of his lap and deposits him back on the bed.  He gets up and moves to walk away, pointedly avoiding looking back at Kamui’s face, but a thin hand shoots out and grasps his wrist.

“What are you thinking about?” Kamui asks, and the suspicion in Kamui’s voice is clear.  “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m taking advantage of you,” Abuto says quietly, amazed at how easily the confession spills out of him. 

 _“I don’t care,_ ” Kamui hisses, and there’s a hint of hurt in his voice that makes Abuto’s chest twist uncomfortably.  “I don’t care.  Be selfish for once.  You’re _helping_ me because I’m sick and I asked you to.  Be happy you get to fuck me with my permission, right?”  He jerks sharply on Abuto’s wrist and the force of it dislocates his shoulder, but it has Kamui’s desired effect of yanking Abuto back onto the bed.  Kamui sighs and rests his head against Abuto’s back.  “You’re the only person who’s ever nice to me, you know.  And your dick is really nice.  Maybe it’s only because I’m poisoned but I really like doing this with you.”  He reaches up and pops Abuto’s shoulder back into the socket.  “Sorry,” he mumbles, like the words don’t taste right in his mouth. 

A long few moments pass as Kamui rests his head against Abuto’s back, the heat of his skin leeching into Abuto’s own.  Finally Abuto sighs, twisting around to pull Kamui’s lithe body tight to his own.  _Oh, fuck it all_ , he thinks as Kamui’s arms wrap around him.  “We need to work on your social skills,” he mutters, tugging on Kamui’s hair and glaring at the kid’s now smiling face.  “You let me feel like a pedophile for all of these years.”

“You ARE a pedophile though,” Kamui replies conversationally, grinning when Abuto yanks on his hair again.  “You just managed to find somebody who likes fucking gross old men.”

“I’m not a gross old man!”

“Then shave your gross-old-man stubble.”

“Brat.”

“Geezer.”  Kamui climbs to his feet and hauls Abuto with him as well, dragging the two of them towards the bathroom.  “I need a shower,” he explains.  “I smell like your cum.”

Abuto rolls his eyes, though he can’t keep the little smile off his face.  “Whose fault is that, though?  Really?”

Kamui stomps on his foot, and Abuto hears bones crunch but he really doesn’t care.

 

\--------

 

The bionic arm is heavy, heavier than what he thinks he remembers his real arm being, and for a while Abuto feels like it’s dragging his whole left side down.  His shoulder aches terribly from the bionic socket now set into it, and his stomach turns every time he changes the bandages around it and sees the blood and other assorted nasty fluids leaking out of it. 

Kamui visits him in the infirmary almost as soon as Abuto wakes up from the anesthetic, and together they inspect the multitude of wires and gears and computer chips hanging out of what used to be his stump.  In time they’ll fit an artificial skin over the limb, but for now it’s an ugly amalgamation of technology that leaves Abuto yearning for bone and muscle more than anything in the world.

Kamui sits on the bed next to him, delicately manipulating the joints.  The nervous system connection hasn’t been fully set up yet, so the most Abuto can manage is a twitch of a finger here, the turn of a wrist there.  His captain frowns at the shiny metal, spreading out Abuto’s fingers one by one until he can fit his own in between them.  Abuto tries to close his fingers around Kamui’s hand, but all he achieves is a minute twitch of his ring finger.  Everything is different now.

“I’m sorry,” Kamui finally whispers.  “This is my fault.”

And it _is_ his fault, but what can Abuto say to that?  If he weren’t closer to the kid than his own father he’d think Kamui was insincere, but there’s a grief in his eyes that is nearly unmistakable.  Kamui rarely regrets his actions, but this is one that he clearly wishes he could take back.

So Abuto raises his good arm and wraps it around Kamui’s waist, pulling him against him and diverting Kamui’s attention from his arm (or lack thereof).  “Nothing we can do about it now.”  He decides this is the best way to put it.  Make Kamui acknowledge he’s the problem but try to absolve him from the guilt.  “We just have to deal with it like this now.” 

 

\--------

 

“I’ve fought your sister too,” Abuto says as he massages the black-blue-green expanse of Kamui’s back.  “I know how hard she hits.  No need to try to be modest.”  Kamui took quite a beating from his little sister, and if bigger problems hadn’t been looming Abuto thinks there would’ve been a very valid possibility of Kagura beating him, or at the very least getting very close to it.  But he doesn’t dare say that to Kamui.  They may be lovers but he doesn’t think that would spare him from Kamui’s wrath.

Kamui hisses when Abuto’s fingers pass over the reopened stab wound from the fight with the Shinsengumi kid and Abuto dips his head down to kiss Kamui’s shoulder in apology.  “That damn bitch is way stronger than I thought she would be,” Kamui mumbles grudgingly, observing the stab wound on his knuckles and picking detritus out of it with his good hand.  “I’m almost proud of her.”

Abuto laughs, picking up a jar of antibiotic ointment and beginning to smear it gently across all the open scrapes and cuts.  “Don’t underestimate a Yato woman.  They’re far scarier than you think.”

“She’s hardly a woman,” Kamui mutters.  “More like an all-devouring demon.”

“It runs in the family, then.”  Abuto dances out the way of Kamui’s kick.  Next are bandages, and he helps Kamui get up into a sitting position so he can work on his head.  It’s funny, he thinks, how much more he can get away with now.  A comment like that would’ve gotten him killed a couple months ago.  Now Kamui just grumbles about how he’s stronger than Kagura and how he’ll definitely kill her too, pausing occasionally to lift his damp hair out of the way of the bandages.

When Abuto is finally done patching him up he settles on the sofa next to the boy, suppressing a yawn as Kamui snuggles next to him.  He wraps his arm around Kamui’s bony shoulders and kisses his forehead.  Kamui really likes physical contact, Abuto has found, even when it’s not of a sexual nature.  This, he figures, is probably a product of his upbringing; his mother was sickly and bedridden, and his father was never there.  Physical affection was in short supply, and coupled with Kamui’s innate mental instability it didn’t make for a very soft childhood.  So he provides it when he can, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like evenings like this, snuggled up on a couch or a bed in one of their cabins as the stars passed them outside the portholes. 

 

Kamui is soon fast asleep and Abuto doesn’t have the heart to wake him even though it’s nearly noon in Rakuyo’s time, so he lifts him gently and deposits him in Abuto’s bed.  He spends enough time in there anyway.  A small buzzing from the intercom on the wall draws his attention and he picks up the receiver, speaking quietly as to not wake the boy dozing in his bed.  “This is Abuto,” he says flatly. 

“Vice-captain, can you take a link to the Kiheitai?”

“Yep.  Send me over.”  There’s a brief sound of static before he’s transferred to the Kiheitai’s communication band.  “This is Abuto.”

“Vice-captain,” comes the cool, calm voice of Takasugi’s right hand man.  “I must ask, how is the captain faring?”

Abuto peers at the snoring figure swallowed up in his sheets.  “He’s fine.  I’ve seen him in much worse shape, and he bounced back from that no problem, so it’s nothing to worry about.”  He hushes his voice even more.  “And what of Takasugi?”

There’s silence hanging on the line before Bansai responds.  “Shinsuke-dono is comatose,” he finally says, and Abuto feels his chest sink.  “He’s alive, but his body’s in poor shape.  He’s not terribly deeply unconscious, but enough that our plans will be delayed quite a bit, I daresay.”  There’s a sadness in Bansai’s voice that Abuto recognizes as being characteristic of a relationship deeper than just the camaraderie of soldiers, and Abuto finds himself sympathizing with the assassin-musician deeply.  If something like that were to happen to Kamui…

They talk strategy for a long time before disconnecting with even fewer plans than before.  Abuto lays down on the bed beside Kamui, rubbing his temple in an attempt to ward of the stress headache he can feel building behind his eyes.  The lean body next to him squirms and snuggles up against his side, and instinctively Abuto turns on his side and tosses his arm over Kamui’s hip, just like he knows Kamui likes.

“How is Shinsuke?” he asks sleepily. 

Abuto sighs.  “Bad.  Comatose…. God, who knows what’s going to happen now.” 

Kamui stares up at him mournfully.  “What can we do?”

Abuto kisses Kamui’s forehead like it would solve all the world’s problems, and maybe for the two of them right now, in this moment, it does.  “We’ll do what we’ve done ever since we met. We’ll manage.”

 

\---------

 

The rain pounds down hard on Rakuyo, just as it always had, just as it did five years ago when Abuto pulled a bloody child out of a pile of trash bags in an alley.  They don't speak as they walk through familiar streets, even when they pass their old apartment building.  Kamui is wrapped up in Takasugi's kimono with his own cloak thrown over it, but even through all the layers Abuto can tell Kamui is shaking.

He reaches out and grabs the kid's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard.  Kamui squeezes back harder, and the pop of a couple broken fingerbones tell Abuto that Kamui is not going to die here.  There is chaos ahead of them, smoke rising from the horizon where Umibozu rampages.  Where Kamui will settle things. 

Kamui turns and throws himself against Abuto, hugging him so tightly he briefly worries for the sake of his ribs, but a tiny voice nags in his mind that this might be their last moment together.  So he holds him tight, breathing in the smell of his skin and feeling the softness of his hair against his cheek as the rain falls and falls and falls.

"Stay alive," Abuto orders him when they finally (reluctantly) part. 

Kamui nods back, fingers tightening around his umbrella.  "Stay alive."

**Author's Note:**

> This was a labor of love. I started this as a self-indulgent drabble with no real plan, but I liked how most of it turned out, and thought it would be a waste to let it sit on my hard drive for the rest of my life. I wrapped things up when I could feel myself losing steam, thus parts of it aren't quite so fleshed out. But I hope you were able to at least get some of the enjoyment from it that I felt while writing it.


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